When Komarov called home to say he would spend the night at headquarters, he expected his wife to answer. Instead, Dmitry, his son, who was rarely home, said, “Good evening. May I ask who is calling?”
“I’m surprised to find you home,” said Komarov.
“Who is calling, please?” repeated Dmitry in a singsong voice.
“Never mind the jokes. Is your mother there?”
“She’s not here. Although you are able to refer to her as my mother, you seem to have forgotten who you are.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I ask who it is, you cannot bring yourself to say you are my father.”
“This conversation is meaningless.”
“I agree. So, what’s up?”
“I won’t be home tonight. Tell your mother I’m involved in an important case.”
“A man from the Nuclear Institute delivered more iodine tablets. Is the radiation a danger to people in Kiev? Should Mom and I run south and become Chernobyl Gypsies?”
Komarov tried not to shout, but Dmitry had probed a nerve.
“Don’t taunt me with talk of Gypsies! No one should be running away! The danger to us is created by Western propaganda! They’re wallowing in our misfortune!”
Komarov’s outburst caused Dmitry to remain silent.
“Tell your mother I’ll call tomorrow.”
“I will, Father.”
After he hung up, Komarov recalled the night he had threatened Dmitry on the back porch. Perhaps the lack of a father to speak with after dinner night after night had been the root cause of Dmitry’s problems. No! A son should be stronger, especially his son.
Komarov did not want to think about Dmitry. Instead, he sat at his desk and thought about the Sherbitsky affair. He remembered his early years here in this office when he often stayed overnight because he was young and enthusiastic and strong. Komarov was about to have a cot sent up from the basement when the phone rang.
It was the overnight guard at the front entrance.
“What is it?”
“There’s a woman here,” said the guard. “She wants to speak with someone in charge.”
“What’s her name?”
There were muffled voices before the guard came back on. “Her name is Tamara Petrov.”
Komarov could not believe it. Tamara Petrov questioned by Captain Brovko only two days ago and now she comes here of her own free will? “Bring her to my office. And contact Captain Brovko.
Wherever he is, tell him to come and see me at once.”
Although he had seen Tamara Petrov’s photograph, Komarov was surprised at her appearance. The photograph revealed long black hair and an olive complexion, reminding him of Barbara, the Romeo agent long ago in the GDR. The photograph had not revealed Tamara Petrov’s bracelets, long earrings, slender fingers, and loose silken blouse open at the neck. She wore a short skirt, and Komarov sat in a side chair rather than behind his desk so he could have a clear view of her shapely legs.
“I feel uncomfortable coming here,” said Tamara Petrov, crossing her legs. “I wouldn’t want my friends and associates to know.”
“Please be more specific, Miss Petrov.”
She leaned forward, her hands agitated, her bracelets jingling on the desk. “I need assurances, Major. I never want to have to repeat any of this at a hearing.”
Komarov felt excitement on two levels as he glanced at the shape of her breasts while at the same time wondering about the reason for her visit. “If you mean you want to remain an anonymous informant, Miss Petrov, then you have come to the right place.”
She stared into his eyes, trying to see something there. A Gypsy. All she needed was her crystal ball. But no one could see into another’s mind, especially his mind. He had proven it during the Sherbitsky hearings. Patience was always better than rushing into things.
“I’m here to help if I can, Miss Petrov. I know your journal published articles about Chernobyl, the shortages during construction, the quality of components, all of it. I realized long ago it was your duty to reveal these things, just as it is my duty to uncover wrongdoing at the power station. We have similar goals.”
Suddenly, something happened Komarov never expected. Tamara Petrov, who looked the part of a strong woman, broke down and wept. After a minute of sobbing and sniffling amid reassurances from Komarov, she was finally able to speak.
“He had no right coming to me.”
“You are speaking of Detective Horvath?” asked Komarov, careful not to sound anxious.
“Yes.”
“Please tell me about it, Miss Petrov.”
“I was coming home from the review office. I sometimes walk in the park along the river. He approached me near the footbridge to the island.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he needed help. He said… he needed a room for himself and a woman. He said I had influence at hotels and could find them a room.”
“What did you tell him?”
She wept again, and Komarov was forced to wait.
“I was going to tell him I couldn’t help and ask him to leave. But he insisted I was involved. He said I had sent him a message about this woman, Juli Popovics. He said I had saved them from the KGB.
I knew something was wrong. I knew he had done something illegal and was dragging me into it so I would feel forced to help. I don’t want to do anything illegal. I’ve never done anything illegal before in my life. I have my literary review and my friends. I have my own life. To get rid of him, I… told him I could help him. And now, because I’m not a criminal and I fear Lazlo has done something against the people he’s supposed to protect, I’m here to tell you where he is.”
“You know where he is?”
Tamara Petrov wiped at her eyes with a billowy sleeve. “He’s waiting for me to meet him. I’m to bring clothing and have a taxi waiting.” Tamara wept again. “This is very hard for me, Major.
This was a man I admired. But I can’t become a criminal. I can’t!”
“You are very brave, Miss Petrov. Your secret will be kept, even from Detective Horvath. Now please, tell me where he is.”
“He… they are at the Hotel Dnieper, registered under the name Yuri Antonov… Yuri Antonov and his wife.”
On his way out, Komarov took Tamara Petrov with him. Captain Brovko met them on the stairs, causing Tamara Petrov to shriek.
“It’s all right, Miss Petrov. He’s not here for you.”
Komarov told Brovko to gather men and come with him. He left Tamara Petrov with the guard and told him to arrange for a car to take her home.
The night air was cool and moist. When he got into the car, Komarov felt adrenaline surging through him. He felt young and was glad to have the company of Captain Brovko instead of Azef.
If he had to share the glory of this night with anyone, let it be with a young man recently assigned who would relinquish credit to Major Grigor Komarov for the capture of Detective Horvath and his co-conspirator.
If it was necessary to kill Horvath and the woman, so be it. Evidence gathered in silence was often much more convincing. In less than a block, two other cars joined the Volga, racing along the night-dampened streets to the Hotel Dnieper.
24
Although the Moskva Hotel on October Revolution Street was newer and the Ukraine Hotel on Shevchenko Boulevard was larger, many tourists preferred the charm and location of the Hotel Dnieper, bordering Lenkomsomol Square. The Hotel Dnieper was centrally located near tourist attractions, including museums and cathedrals.
The Philharmonia, the library, and the cinema were directly across from the Dnieper. If your tastes were less cultural, you could stroll down Vladimirsky Spusk to the riverbank for a boat ride or take the path through the park for a walk across the footbridge to the beach on Trukhanov Island.